


Cocoon

by ClumsyChicken



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkwardness, Character Study, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, One Shot, POV Third Person Limited, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1865901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClumsyChicken/pseuds/ClumsyChicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Excessive sweating is a rather common side-effect of antidepressant medication.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cocoon

The oppressive heat lingers in the room like fog. It clings to the specs of dust that float in the few beams of light the blinds don't catch. Breathing feels dissatisfactory, as though his lungs can hardly utilize the humid air. His legs are still resting on the moist, messy bed. With as deep a breath as he can manage, he heaves them off the side of the bed. He stays in an upright foetal position on his back, before he musters the strength to continue moving and kicks himself further away from the bed. The sweat on his back squeals as he travels across the hardwood floor. Finally he lies flat on his back and sighs deeply. It provides no relief.

He shifts his focus to his breathing, as he stares up at their room. Once again, his bed looks like it's been ravaged by a rabid Tasmanian devil. Even in the dark, the layers of dust his multitudinous book collection has gathered recently is visible. At least the tiny cactus Annie gave him is still alive, on top of his closet. Cacti aren't the most sensitive of plants, which is quite useful when it belongs to him.

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Falling back asleep would be ideal, but his head feels as though it weighs several tonnes. He cranes his neck to the right, in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the digital clock on the end table. It's nowhere near visible from his level. Instead, he notices that one of Reiner's judo trophies is now bathed in sunlight. The sun only hits that ugly piece when it's long past noon. The uneasy feeling in his stomach turns hollow.

After what feels like an eternity of solemn contemplation, he slowly manages to sit upright. He furrows his brow and wrinkles his nose, as his back complains about his sleeping habits.

With slow, careful movements he pulls up the blinds, averting his gaze from the clock. After a couple of narrow-eyed blinks, his eyes begin to adjust to the blinding light that drives out the gloom. With a hand on the overheated windowsill, he opens each window as wide as possible. He plants his teeth in his lower lip. Hopefully Reiner will see the point of airing the room, in spite of his allergies. Without bothering to put on anything but his boxer shorts, he opens the door to the living room with clammy hands.

Upon entering, his legs immediately begin sliding into a split position. He quickly flails his arms and manages to rest on one knee, while the other leg slowly stops its trajectory. He tilts his head, wet hair defying gravity and sticking to his forehead, to take a look at the cause of his sudden gymnastics exhibition. His toes are curled around a large pair of frilly, hot pink panties. As his heart rate normalizes, he removes his foot from the tacky undergarment and carefully stands back up. With a deep sigh that almost puts him back on the floor, he slides the panties away from his path through the cramped living room.

His hand instinctively rests on his nape as he shuffles towards the balcony doors. The floorboards sizzle in the golden rays from the kitchen windows. He manoeuvres his long corpus around the square sunbeams, balancing his weight evenly on both legs, much like a penguin. The balcony doors slam open with the surplus of force he exerts on them. This allows a disappointingly light wind to enter the steaming living room.

He methodically opens every single window in the kitchen. As a result, the apartment has become rather breezy. Unfortunately, the heat persists. He slumps into the only tawdry chair by the dining table that isn't consumed by sunlight.

Only then does his phone vibrate on the kitchen counter. With an exasperated sigh he leans to the side, so that he's almost horizontal, and reaches out for the device. Despite the length of his arms, he can only just reach it. The phone displays a message from Reiner. One of many. With his chin placed on his forearm, he meticulously reads every single one.

_"I didn't wake you up when I left. Hope that's okay. Looked like you needed the rest. If not then tell me so I can do it tomorrow okay?"_

_"Remember to eat something"_

_"I know you don't feel like it but it's really important ;)"_

_"Oh but it's gonna be much colder friday so we can go running then if you want? Then you won't die horribly in the heat and all"_

_"I almost did today wow terrible idea!!"_

_"It'd be nice to have you along again :)"_

_"I don't feel like cooking tonight tbh so I can just bring us some takeout. Anything you want? Otherwise I'll just get the usual"_

_"I'll be home soon though I promise"_

The hollow sensation in his stomach is nauseating. He rests his forehead on his forearm with closed eyes, while his phone gets increasingly dank in his grasp. An uncomfortable pressure builds in his abdomen, as he knows what to respond. Each button press results in a sticky fingerprint on the already smudgy screen.

_"I opened the window in our room. I really hope that's okay."_

Instead of pressure, a sense of dread and anticipation instils in his gut. He sucks on his lips and furrows his brow as he climbs out of his seat. With one hand on the table and the other on the nearest kitchen counter, he mainly supports himself with his arms. After walking baby steps along the edge of the table, he feels calm enough to slowly approach the sink on his slippery feet.

As he moisturizes his dry palate and chapped lips, it occurs to him that he'd like some tea. Instead of reaching for the kettle, he slumps across the kitchen counter when he realizes that he should under no circumstances be drinking tea in this heat. A groan escapes his lips and he looks out through the open windows at the veldt-like conditions below. People are scurrying around like ants. Ants who have fun and laugh and enjoy each others' company.

With a wrinkled nose he grabs the nearest used cola bottle and rinses it under the faucet. He fills it to the brim with cool water, grabs his phone, and wanders towards the balcony with these vital items. He avoids the sunspots as if they were lava. This gets difficult when pearls of sweat finally drip onto his eyelashes from his furrowed brows. Blinking repeatedly, he descends onto the doorstep with his feet on the still-warm concrete balcony.

He puts his phone down on the floor next to him, pours some cold water into his hand, and runs it through his hair. He rubs down his face and neck, before taking a long swig. Just when he exhales and puts the water bottle down, his phone vibrates, which makes him gasp and drop the bottle. It falls over and rolls away, spilling its contents over the side of the railing. Tears well up in his eyes. With a trembling chin, he takes a look at the message.

_"Haha yeah sure I'll manage :) don't worry about it"_

The pressure in his chest turns into an ache. He digs his fingernails into his scalp, curls up with his other arm wrapped around his legs, and buries his face in his knees.

Another jolt rushes through him, as the doorbell rings. His stomach turns rock hard. Every muscle in his body tenses up. Time passes at a snail's pace, while his heart rate quickens. If he stays quiet the person will leave soon enough.

Just as he starts relaxing his muscles, the doorbell rings once more. He gasps and his hand flies up to cover his mouth. With clenched teeth and shaking limbs, he closes his eyes. His insides feel like they're quivering alongside his muscles, and the nausea returns. He gulps down his breaths as quietly as possible.

"Bertolt? I know you're home. Let me in." He exhales sharply when he recognizes Annie's voice, and runs his fingers through his wet hair. His leg muscles tighten. If he makes a run for the bedroom now, he can get dressed before she gets impatient and enters with her keys. On the other hand, doing so would convince her that he's home, thus removing all possibility of her leaving him alone. Furthermore, he's not certain if he can actually make the journey quickly enough. His knees are still trembling, and he would no doubt suffer a head rush if he tried. Then again, he doesn't want her to see him in his current condition. Just the thought of it makes his stomach churn.

He hears a key turn in the door lock and he desperately tries to relax his body. The door is opened and slammed, after which squeaky footsteps traverse the floors and quickly close in on him. He focuses his gaze on the spilt water and stretches out his legs to dip his toes in it. She walks straight past the balcony and enters the kitchen. By the time she sits down next to him in the sun, his breathing has returned to normal, although his heartbeat still has some work to do.

"Hey," Annie says. He slowly turns his head to look her in the eyes, but instead the small bucket of ice cream she holds up in front of him catches his attention. "I got you the mango sorbet," she continues, and shoves it towards him, spoon included. He hesitates for a few seconds with his mouth hanging wide open. Carefully he manoeuvres his long fingers around hers, so that they do not touch, and takes the bucket and utensil. He still feels her staring at him, so he looks at her as he puts the first spoonful in his mouth.

Instead, he finds her unwrapping a humble popsicle and putting the tip of it in her mouth. It's already melting a little bit and she positions her hand below the ice cream to prevent dripping. She's put on a new coat of pink nail polish since the last time he saw her. Her shiny hair and sparse, well-fitted clothes reveal that she's affected by the heat wave as well. She furrows her brow slightly and catches his gaze out of the corner of her powder blue eyes. He instantly lowers his gaze to his sorbet.

"I bought a fan," she says.

"A fan?" he asks, and clears his throat.

"Yeah, a fan. For you. One of those big floor ones." She sucks on the lolly and catches runaway drops.

"Oh." He eats another spoonful. "Reiner said he'd get one of those, though."

"Yeah, like, a month ago," she mumbles and he grunts in response. With a sigh, she picks up the toppled bottle, which makes him move his legs closer to the railing, and walks inside. He presses his lips together, takes another bite, and looks up at the sky. Expecting to find a never ending blanket of blue, he is taken aback by the grey clouds that have rolled in. They make no discernible heat difference for him. He groans and forcefully digs into his ice cream.

"Bertolt, come watch TV with me. Revenge is almost on," Annie says from the living room. After a few deep breaths, he grabs on to the railing and pulls his legs in under him. His knees feel unhinged, like they're no longer connected to his body. He pulls himself up by his arm and finds his balance, before turning around on the spot and shambling inside.

Annie has already taken a seat on the grey linen sofa, leaving her sneakers on the carpet. Her legs are neatly folded underneath her and she's propped up one of Reiner's tacky art deco pillows behind her back. As soon as he nears the sofa, he slumps onto it like a dead fish. Annie jumps in her seat from the impact. Taking up most of the space with his sprawled out position, he continues eating his ice cream while commercials fly by on the 50 inch flat screen.

"Thank you," he says and scrapes the sides of the container. "For this." She doesn't respond. As he idly watches an energetic ad for a set of pans, she breathes in sharply.

"How are you really doing, Bertl?" she asks, in a much softer tone than usual, and gnaws off the last piece of her popsicle. The hollow sensation in his chest feels tangible, as he lowers his gaze to the last bits of vivid orange mush in front of him. With a cringe he sits up straight and sucks on his sweet lips.

"I don't know," he mumbles.


End file.
